


Desperate Measures

by Vault_of_Glass



Series: Opportunities for Leisure [6]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: F/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Short & Sweet, Stealthy Sex, kinkmeme fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-25
Updated: 2016-05-25
Packaged: 2018-06-10 15:22:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6962347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vault_of_Glass/pseuds/Vault_of_Glass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>River's not great at keeping quiet, but desperate times. . . .</p>
            </blockquote>





	Desperate Measures

"God, that radio's annoying."

"Did you know it plays all night? 'Cause I didn't know that."

"And so _loud_."

"It's deafening. How do these people sleep here?"

River wasn't any happier than MacCready was about having to spend the night at the Castle, but a sudden thunderstorm and his strong aversion to traveling while wet had cut their journey to Warwick Homestead short. They bitched about it in hushed whispers, lying side-by-side on a lumpy mattress in one of the many alcoves inside the Castle walls. They had the room, if it could be called that, to themselves, but there were people in the alcoves on either side of them, separated only by open doorways.

She thought longingly of the private bedroom she'd built for herself at Warwick. It was a small, one-room metal building removed from the rest of the settlement, with a big mattress and doors that closed them away from the rest of the world.

" _This is Radio Freedom_ ," the Minuteman's voice rang out through the speakers again, " _nothing to report_."

"Oh, my god, if there's nothing to report, then don't report it," River hissed, hands curled into claws in her irritation.

MacCready smothered his laughter into his elbow. "You're the General. Just go tell him to take the night off."

She ducked her head against his chest, pulling the blanket up over herself. "It's too cold out there," she complained, her muffled voice barely loud enough for him to hear.

"I'll give you that one," he conceded quietly. He felt her cold fingers inching up under his shirt. "Jesus, River, your hands are freezing. What are you doing?"

"Warming them," she murmured into his skin, kissing the taut muscle over his stomach. "And distracting you."

"Well . . . it's working."

He felt more than heard her laughter. The decidedly unsexy violins and the rain storm wouldn't provide much audible cover; he could hear the men snoring in the alcoves on either side of them, which meant they could hear _him_ \- to be more accurate, they could hear _River_. When she started tugging down his pants, he pulled the blanket up over his own head. "It's the music, isn't it?" he teased, drawing her attention. "Old-timey violins always do it to me, too."

She smirked up at him from under the tangled mess of her hair. "Shut up. It just feels a little naughty, doesn't it?"

"Extremely. One of us doesn't really know how to keep quiet, though."

River emerged again from beneath the blanket, silencing him with a hungry kiss. One of her hands palmed him through his underwear, and she really didn't need to be so persuasive, he was already on board. What did he care if they woke up a few Minutemen? _He_ wasn't the damn General. . . .

He ducked his head against her shoulder and nipped at her neck, feeling her shudder against him in response. She was really such a treat - curvy and soft in all the right places, and he couldn't blame the men who shot him envious looks when she held his hand in public or when they got a little too bold with their kisses. He wasn't entirely sure he deserved her, either, but it wouldn't stop him from enjoying every moment they shared, keeping her safe, loving her with every ounce of his being.

River was making impressive progress on the essential parts of their clothing. She'd kicked her pants into a bundle at the foot of the mattress, fingers pulling deftly at his belt. He probably shouldn't have even bothered wearing one today. They hadn't had sex in a few days, and she'd been all riled-up since they left Bunker Hill that morning, excited about the night they now were not spending at Warwick Homestead. It gave him a chance, though, to slide his hands up under her shirt, spread his fingers wide over her ribs. Her skin was cold beneath his palms and he ran them tenderly down her sides to warm her.

She writhed beneath his touch, latching onto the curve of his shoulder to stifle the noises she was already struggling to keep quiet. He shoved a thigh up between her legs, pressed his fingers to the slick heat of her sex. She licked her hand and gripped the head of his cock, lining it up between her thighs. His head fell back when she sank down onto him, the tight clench of her walls around him sweet agonizing torture.

River sighed in relief, rolling her hips and taking him so deep it forced a squeak out of her. He shoved two of his fingers between her teeth, wiggling them pointedly against her tongue until her lips closed obediently around them. She bit down hard enough to sting, but it was bearable. Satisfied that she had something to occupy that traitorously loud mouth of hers, he jerked his hips sharply upward. The bed gave a noisy squeal beneath them and they froze, staring at each other with wide, panicked eyes.

They listened for a beat: more violins, more gentle snoring, nothing to indicate they'd been discovered . . . yet.

RJ lifted his head to catch one of her breasts in his mouth, tongue rough and hungry against the hardened peak of her nipple. She suckled helplessly at his fingers, hips grinding desperately against him. He steadied her hips with his hand to a slow roll, a controlled burn. River had enough sexual energy to exhaust any one average human male; sometimes it was better to contain a little of that energy before it got out of hand. Especially when they were one crumbling stone wall away from a stranger on either side.

River pulled his hand from her mouth and buried her face in his neck, taking hold of him there with her teeth. He wrapped his arms around her and rolled them over, planted his knees between her thighs, and after a moment of fumbled adjustments, he shoved into her again. Her nails raked wildly over his shoulders, mouth humming pained little noises into his throat.

 _Fuck_ , she was _warm_ , and so damn soft at the same time, like silk and velvet. He muffled his labored breathing between her breasts, occasionally landing stinging kisses on one or the other. Her fingers gripped his hair and held him close, urging him to continue.

He couldn't hear much anymore past the rushing of blood in his ears and the tiny, minute rustle of their frantic movements. For River's sake, he hoped the radio and the falling rain would be enough to drown them out.

She released his neck from her teeth, soothing the spot over with her lips and tongue before searching for another one. The next bite came to his left shoulder, thankfully a fleshier part of him; it was always easier to bear her teeth there. He felt her knuckles brush his hip, and he realized at the sudden squeeze of her walls around him that she was touching herself.

River worried the slick nub between her folds with clumsy strokes, timed in the lulls between his thrusts. It was an awkward climb toward release, sometimes there, sometimes not; he could see the frustration play over her face, eyes shut tight, teeth digging into her lip. He caught a handful of her hair and gave it a lazy tug. Her eyes flew open, lips suddenly parting and he barely had time to slap his hand over her mouth to muffle the cry there.

MacCready ducked his head against her shoulder, whispered a laugh, hardly louder than a breath. "You're so bad at this."

River pulled his hair in response, evidently not trusting herself to speak. Nipped at the palm of his hand, but didn't move to push him away. He shifted her leg up over his shoulder, and her eyes rolled back at his next thrust, her moan a muffled vibration under his hand. She nodded frantically, tears welling at the edges of her eyes from the effort.

 _Fuck_ , it was really something, watching powerful, unstoppable River fall apart underneath him. Her nails were digging into his side, hips flexing and clenching, and then she threw her head back, body seizing as she came. He bit down on her shoulder, suppressing a groan. The bed squeaked beneath their frenetic rocking, and she was moaning way too loud into his hand, someone would definitely hear, but fuck, feeling her come around him was too much. He gave another deep few thrusts and spilled inside of her, fighting to keep himself quiet through the waves of pleasure.

They held onto each other, panting for breath as silently as they could. Once the pounding of his pulse faded from his ears, MacCready tried to take stock of their surroundings: Freedom Radio still piped out uninterrupted from the speakers, and rain continued to fall in gusts against the Castle walls around them. He would've been relieved if not for the distinct lack of snoring from either direction.

River pressed her lips to his ear. "Think we got away with it?"

MacCready shook his head, muffling his laughter into the curve of her throat. "You're definitely gonna get some stares tomorrow."

"Hmn." She kissed him lazily, a satisfied smile on her face. "Worth it."

* * *

River discovered that word travelled fast in the Castle walls. The Minutemen were evidently all a bunch of horrible gossips, because she received more than a few curious looks the next morning, even a few lascivious grins when they thought she wasn't looking - _and_ on top of that could likely expect an awkward, carefully-worded lecture on propriety from Preston next time she saw him.

"I don't even want to hear it," she warned MacCready icily.

He didn't say a word, but the grin on his face was smug enough to get his point across.


End file.
